Proof
by Medieval Scribe
Summary: Tonks needs proof. Can Remus provide it?


**Proof**

He drains the Firewhiskey, and refills his glass with another shot. Years of solitude and forbearance have made it so he can pour perfectly, even though he suspects he has probably had more to drink today than he has in more than a decade.

Remus holds the glass up, vaguely entranced by the way light reflects off the amber liquid. There is a hole inside of him, a gnawing loneliness, and he has only just discovered that Firewhiskey dulls the edges of the hole, and so he is indulging. He has had far too much already, he knows, but being able to drink with abandon is one of the rare perks of being a werewolf. _Probably the only perk._

They read Sirius's will today, and listening to it is like hearing the final nails being driven into his best friend's coffin. Only Sirius has fallen, and there is no body and no coffin and no funeral and nothing else, save bequests made from the beyond. Sirius has left everything to Harry, and this does not surprise Remus, because really, Sirius never realized that Harry was not James. But somewhere, somewhere deep in the bitter reaches of his heart, a place Remus rarely allows himself to visit anymore, a tiny ember of resentment glows. _He didn't leave me anything, not even a letter, a last thought. _He allows himself a moment to revel in feeling something aside from grief as he thinks about Sirius, but his wallow is interrupted by a loud thunk from somewhere near the door.

_Tonks_. Her company is usually welcome, because she has that rare combination of childish naiveté and womanly wit that Remus finds so endearing. Her attention is flattering too, and in fact, he has encouraged this in the past, although he is careful not to return her flirtatious looks or words in kind. There are times when Remus thinks she fancies him (and he certainly likes her more than is proper), but he suspects this is only wishful thinking on his part. Today, however, he is uncertain he wants her here. He is not in the mood to entertain.

"Wotcher." Her voice is quiet and she seems subdued. Even her hair is not its usual vivid pink, but a sort of morose brown. She is still far away, but his sense of smell is keen and he picks up the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the telltale odors of a Muggle pub. He wonders at this, but realizes that he can hardly chastise her for being dissolute, when he is just to the right of being completely sozzled himself.

He nods in her direction and turns his attention back to his drink, hoping that she will recognize his mood and leave him alone. But it is not to be.

She pulls up a chair next to his, and notices the Firewhiskey. She _Summons_ a glass over for herself and holds it out to him. "Share?" He shrugs and begins to pour, but then stops.

"Are you sure, Tonks? It's 80 proof, and it seems to me like you've had enough already." He gives her a small smile to make sure he doesn't appear too judgmental.

She is mildly indignant, and pouts in an entirely adorable way. "It was just two pints, really. Went with a Muggle friend of mine, to the pub round the corner." She pauses, and then adds, by way of explanation, "I helped him walk his dog."

Something about the way she says this makes Remus laugh and almost choke on his Firewhiskey. "Walk his dog, eh? Is that what you lot call it these days?"

She laughs, but then shakes her head. "It's not like that. I just . . ." Her voice tapers away, and she becomes silent, seemingly unsure of what to say next. Remus is surprised by this, for Tonks is rarely, if ever, at a loss for words.

He empties the bottle into his glass, and she gives him an odd look. "How much have you had to drink anyhow?" He holds up the empty bottle. "Not all that much, really."

She gives him an odd look, as if she is wondering why solid, staid Remus Lupin is drinking himself into a stupor.

"This is about Sirius, isn't it?"

He sighs. Apparently, a knack for the obvious is also one of Tonks's talents.

"It's alright if you're getting arseholed because of Sirius, you know. I mean, I . . ."

It is that same uncertainty again, and he begins to wonder if talking about Sirius is just as painful for her. He was her cousin, after all, and Tonks was fond of him.

"I mean, I wanted to talk to you about him anyhow, Remus. I want . . . "

He sighs again, this time more out of exasperation. He is not in the mood to talk about Sirius with her . . . to console her in her grief, when his own needs so much of his attention.

"Tonks, are you going to get to the point soon, or should I find more Firewhiskey?"

"It's just . . . I need to know something." She twists her hands together nervously, and this side of her personality is one he has not seen before. His annoyance gives way to curiosity as she fixes his gaze with her own.

"Were you and Sirius . . . you know . . . more than friends?"

At first, he does not understand. "More than friends? Probably. Sometimes I thought of Sirius as something like a brother . . . "

He is interrupted by her voice. "No, I mean . . . were you _more than just friends_?" She says the words more pointedly this time, although Remus is still uncertain where she is going exactly. He raises an eyebrow at her, but does not answer, hoping she will clarify.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Remus." She is exasperated and slaps her hand forcefully on the table. The noise gives him a jolt, and a warning signal begins to go off on his head, as one possible meaning of her words finally dawns on him.

He chokes on his Firewhiskey, and words come out of his mouth in splutters. "Oh. You mean . . . you want to know if Sirius and I . . . you want to know if I'm . . ." He is unsure what to say next, but he is mildly appalled at the direction of her thoughts. _And here I thought she fancied me!_

"What made you think such a thing anyhow?"

She looked away, her expression sheepish. "Sorry . . . it's just the two of you were so close . . . and you're so neat, and polite."

He chuckled. "Well, in future, I will try to be as slovenly as rude as possible, if only to keep you from any misconceptions."

"So you're not . . . you don't really fancy blokes then?"

"No. They're alright as friends, but I've never had the urge to wake up naked with one." He says it as lightly as possible, but is surprised to see her face fall, her smile replaced with a frown and a tiny crease between her brows.

"Then why?"

"Why what?" Her words make no sense to him, and he wonders if he is beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, werewolf or not.

"Why . . . don't you like me?"

He nearly falls out of the chair at this assertion, if only because nothing could be further from the truth.

"Why would you say that? You know I like you. We're friends . . ."

"Friends, maybe. But you don't talk to me the way you talk to the others. I've seen you with Hestia and Emmeline. You laugh with them, you flirt with them. You even let Molly Weasley cut your hair!"

He laughs, but then holds up a hand to stop her. "Well, Molly cuts everyone's hair. And as for Hestia . . . well, it's easy to talk to her because I don't . . . " He stops short, before he can finish the thought forming in his mind. _Because I don't fancy her. _

She watches him intently for a moment, and then gets up out of the chair, and sits on the edge of the table, facing Remus. "Then, there's only one other possible explanation."

She reaches out and pushes his fringe off his forehead, her fingertips grazing his forehead. It is the first time she has really touched him, and he is pleasantly shocked at the warm sensation it produces, at how much more effective it is at filling that gaping hole than the Firewhiskey.

"I think you fancy me, Remus."

He laughs, partly out of nervousness. "Ridiculous notion."

"Well, I need proof. Ask me out."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "You want me to prove I don't fancy you, by asking you out on a date?"

"Yes. If you do fancy me, it will be obvious. And if you don't . . . well, I'll get a date out of it, won't I?"

Her fingers are stroking his hair now, tucking a strand behind his ear. She is leaning forward, her eyes fixed on his, and Remus is so entranced by her gaze and her touch that he almost doesn't notice when her eyes drop to his lips, but the thought that she is about to kiss him breaks the spell.

He grabs her wrist, stopping her fingers. "Really, Tonks. This is beyond silly." He doesn't allow himself to see the hurt expression on her face as he gets up to leave. "I've had one too many anyhow, and I need to get to bed while I can still climb the stairs."

He is almost to the door when it hits him. _She likes me._ Her touch is the first in weeks to have dulled the pain of losing Sirius, the last tie to his old life. Her words are the first in weeks to have made him laugh, made him forget, if only for a moment. He needs her, because she is like a healing balm for his wounds, the only thing that will rid him of the loneliness that gnaws at his soul. How can he just leave things as they are?

He turns back towards her. "Er, Tonks . . . about that date."

--

Days later, as they lie in bed, limbs entwined, tired but sated, Remus hopes Tonks has all the proof she ever needed.


End file.
